Slendermania

[bornuntotrouble]

No place is safe, anymore.

That's the one thing John is sure of.

The forest is shrouded in an impenetrable mist, and everywhere he looks he swears he can see that...that thing.

(His eyes turn trees into eldritch monstrosities, he's got a cough that won't go away, and every time he sleeps he has nightmares that make him wake up screaming.)

The Bar is crowded, too crowded - he can feel the walls pressing in on him, forcing him out, back into the forest amidst the tinkle of glass, conversation, and laughter.

He walks along a narrow path, the crunch of bark and grass underneath his boots breaking the silence. One hand is on his Colt, and every so often he stops and looks around.



He thumbs back the hammer to half-cock with a click.

Just in case.

Comments

[trigger_man]

He walks amongst the trees, no longer afraid.

This is its home. This is where he belongs at this moment, and later, if he leaves the woods, the part of him that is Jack will not remember being here.

If he leaves. If.

He has work to do first.

It needs others, it needs offerings, and he can move as quietly as a cat through the woods and across the grounds. He is a good little soldier, stronger when Jack is tucked in his little box, deep, deep down, and cannot make any protest against its wishes.

He moves through the trees, and hears footsteps, a soft click.

He smiles, ready for the hunt.

[bornuntotrouble]

The forest is silent.

His eyes dart from tree to tree, and he forces himself to breathe deep, inhaling the scent of pine and evergreen and moss and-

-and something else.


Something wrong.


He chances a look back. There's nothing but the mist.


Hell with it.

He draws his revolver and sets off, his steps those of a man walking through a minefield.

[trigger_man]

He can see the man now, see the revolver in his hand, but it doesn't give him any second thoughts. Jack may not be in control, but he had Jack's knowledge and skill. Disarming a target isn't going to be anything difficult.

He's more and more careful to not make any noise as he approaches the man from behind, or at least no more noise than a rustling tree branch or animal creeping along the ground would.

[bornuntotrouble]

He still doesn't like it.

Doesn't like the way the fog sets his teeth on edge, prickles the hair on the back of his neck.

Abruptly, he sets the hammer back to full cock with another click.


He starts to turn-

[trigger_man]

He reaches out and grabs for the hand holding the revolver, his movements already planned out like choreography in a dance.

Lift the arm, twist the wrist, breaking it if necessary. Neutralize the threat from the weapon, take the target down.

[bornuntotrouble]

There's a man, then a hand on John's wrist, and then-

-the CRACK of bone fracturing.

"GAH!"

Reflexively, he tightens his grip, and the revolver goes off, the round hitting nothing but air.

"Get the hell offa me!"

He brings his free hand up, building up for a hook straight at the man's temple-

[trigger_man]

He smiles at the crunch of bone, trying to pry the weapon from the man's hand. He pulls back a little to try and avoid the blow to the temple, but no quite far enough; it's enough of a hit to knock him to the side, but not stun him or break his grip on the weapon.

He kicks out at the man's knee, hoping to send him to the ground.

[bornuntotrouble]

It connects beautifully, and John meets dirt, his hand still around the revolver in a death grip.

"You stupid sonofabitch, let me go!"

He swings another fist, blindly, hoping to hit the crotch or the gut or the head or wherever it is that'll put this man down.

[trigger_man]

The punch hits him square in the gut, knocking the air out of him, but he still doesn't let go of John's hand.

Losing this fight isn't an option. It's not a conscious thought, because he's not really thinking like Jack can. It's a feeling, down in his bones.

Fail me and I'll take you instead.

He takes a step behind John, twisting the hand holding the revolver as he moves, and grabs the back of John's neck.

He'll beat John's head into the ground if he has to.

[bornuntotrouble]

John grunts, tries to get to his feet-

[trigger_man]

--and he stops on John's knee, trying to keep him down.

He lets go of the back of John's neck long enough to try and place him in a choke hold.

He needs to subdue his target once and for all.

[bornuntotrouble]

The next thing John knows, there's an arm around his neck and the blackness is closing in and stars burst in his eyes and he sputters, struggling, fighting for oxygen, fighting to break Jack's hold-



-and then, with one last breath, he goes limp.